♥ thedevotchka wrote 'Coming Home' for ohyellowbird 1/2 ♥
Title: Coming Home
Author: thedevotchka
Summary: Tate Langdon shot up his high school in 1994 and walked away from it. Now, he’s back to finish what he started.
Spoilers/Warnings/ Triggers: Violence, rape, graphic scenes.
Author’s Note: Thanks so much for giving me the opportunity to be a part of this exchange, it’s been the most challenging, but ultimately the most rewarding, fic I’ve ever done!
Coming Home 1/2
“Please don’t do this… I have money, please!” She was weak but hysterical, looking beautiful bound by a rope I fashioned from the hair of her mother, sister, aunt and daughter. I was lucky she had so many female relatives. She probably didn’t know what was going to happen to her when she brought me into her home, charmed by my dimples and my curls and my assurance that of course she was beautiful. Of course. Now, now she was beautiful. I chuckled, a sound that vibrated deliciously in my throat.
“You think I care about your money, slut?” She whined, head dropping onto her tattered shirt. I wasn’t interested in her, not like that, Jesus, she was old enough to be my mother.
“Please,” it was a cracked whisper, she was broken.
“Why would you want to live, anyway?” I sat across the room from her, perched on the desk with my elbows on my knees.
“I… I-“
“I mean, your life would be a nightmare. One big nightmare. You’d see me everywhere, round every corner, wondering if I was coming back to finish it. And your family is dead, too. Who would want you now?” I stood, bouncing onto my feet and stepping across the room to crawl up the bed on all fours between her legs.
“I-“
“You just want to live, right? That irrational, instinctual need to survive. I understand.” I flashed her a grin, cocking my head to the side like I practiced every day in my mirror. I’d perfected the trusting, innocent look to the point where I was willing to climb into my own goddamn Cadillac, she looked up at me with watery eyes set back in a blotchy face. I reached a hand down to her, sitting back on my heels and stroking her face. She leaned away from my touch.
“It’s too late for that,” I murmured, voice a low purr like a lover, and her eyes bulged as my fingers flew to her throat and squeezed. It was satisfying, seeing her skin flush and then pale, purple, sickening like the rapid progression of a bruise after a bludgeoning. When she was limp and decidedly dead, I packed up and left, as I always did. No calling card, no forwarding address. I didn’t want to play mind games with the NJSP but that’s kind of inevitable when you’re a serial killer with a trademark method. Besides, this was the last they’d be faced with, because I was leaving. My name is Tate Langdon, and I’m finally going home.
It was risky, too risky to be seen here. I’d relied on time to age me and to make the people forget, but I’d been cursed with a beautiful face and people stared, even after all this time. I gripped the steering wheel tight, promising myself I would linger only a moment or two more. Five minutes at the most. Just long enough to see them all leave, to scatter across the asphalt and to remember how they had scattered for me, a very long time ago on a day that would haunt their parents but would be nothing more than a tale of caution to them. I heard the bell clank heavy from somewhere inside the building and slumped low as I could, trying to meld with the battered leather seat I perched in. The students spilled out through the doors, laughing, chattering, and texting. It had nothing on the beauty of the screams and laboured, shallow breaths of the victims I’d allowed to run, run, run across the parking lot before picking them off easily with the shotgun I’d had stashed under my bed for months.
I’d savoured each moment, making sure my victims saw my face before they died. Some of them begged for their lives, but pleading was easy to ignore. The short skirts and tacky shirts reminded me why I hated this decade so much, and I found myself growing nostalgic for the torn tights and dirty flannel of the nineties, though I’d hated how much I’d fit in at the time. I hadn’t been expecting her. In hindsight, now, I can look back and reason that I’d responded as I did, without proper precaution, because I hadn’t been expecting her. But then, all I could do was stare. She was everything I’d ever looked for. Small, fragile and alone. No one would ask too many questions about her, if they noticed she disappeared at all. She wore an ankle length floral dress that hung off her frame in an ugly way, but the defiance in her stare made it clear she either didn’t care or didn’t notice the way people snickered at her. She wasn’t strong though, that much was clear. She would be an easy target, and easy wasn’t usually what I went for, but she reminded me so much of the girls from my first killing, my glorious awakening, that I knew I had to have her. I had to have her and savour her and take her life in a dignified and beautiful way. This one would be my trophy.
In hindsight, of course, it didn’t work out as rational as I’d pictured it. She had a car, a shitty one but a car all the same, so I couldn’t snatch her on a walk home. I followed her though, always a few cars behind, or just around the corner, but she didn’t glance back, not once. She didn’t expect me, which was the beautiful part. Murderers and rapists always went after the pretty, popular girls, not girls like her. Not the quiet, plain, virgin teenagers… they were safe. They were safe from everyone but me, the charismatic killer with a penchant for the past. She veered into the driveway of a modern, nondescript house, like any other on the street, and shoved the door closed with her shoulder as she left, though her hands were free. I parked just around the corner and re-approached the house on foot. I’d found, through years and years of practice, that so long as you look confident in what you’re doing, people rarely question you. So I walked, quite purposefully and confidently, up to her front door.
There were no cars in the driveway but hers, but there was space and a fresh looking oil stain that suggested there should be. If I was lucky, very, very lucky, she would be alone. I knocked, three sharp raps, and stood a little back on the porch so as not to look menacing in any way. She answered, a little gust as the door opened blew a few strands of hair in front of her face and I noted that it was not as blonde as I’d originally seen, in the sunlight, but darker and filled with many different strains of blonde and brown and ash. I put on that pretty smile, you know, the one I practiced in the mirror a lot, and she blushed. Good.
“Can I help you?” She crossed her arms against her chest, as a barrier to my eyes, but I didn’t care right now for what she was concealing. There would be time, oh yes, time for the breasts and the ribs and the heart, but my eyes were drawn to the way her sleeves had slipped up, revealing fine, red lines. She was a cutter. I cheered internally; she was already so tragic that no one would really look too closely if she disappeared. They would probably peg her as a runaway case.
“Hi, yeah, maybe. I’m Tate.” I held my hand out and she eyed it, but didn’t accept my greeting. Oh well.
“Hi… Tate… can I help you?” She reiterated her question, and I noticed she’d moved her arms away from herself and was clutching the door, ready to slam it shut on me at any moment.
“Yeah, hopefully. I lost my dog around here, this morning. I’ve been knocking house to house all day looking for him. Little Westie, cutest thing you’d ever see, but an absolute menace if you let him off the leash.” I let a little chuckle escape, perfectly timed, and it had the desired effect as she loosened her grip on the doorframe and smiled shyly back at me.
“No, I’m really sorry but I haven’t. Do you live around here? I’ll let you know if I see him.” I thought for a moment, wracking my brain for a suitable response. This was make or break time. I’d disarmed her for now, but if I took too long in responding she’d become suspicious again.
“That’s the really awkward part,” I glanced around and then leaned in comically, she leaned a little away from me. “It’s not my dog.” She blinked at me.
“If it’s not your dog… then…” she trailed off, obviously confused, but her eyes were wide and open, she wasn’t suspicious yet.
“It’s my mother’s dog, she lives a few streets away. I’m staying at the Grand Marina, just visiting for a couple of days, but my mom’s getting too old to walk him, so I said I would… she’ll be real sad if she finds out I lost him.” The girl nodded, her expression serious, and I wanted to laugh at how easily I’d dragged her into my game. With a doll this willing, the play could go on for days, weeks, maybe even months if I could control myself that long.
“Well…” she seemed to hesitate, glancing at the ground and then back to me. “I guess, if you don’t want your mom to know…” I nodded, encouraging her on. “If I see the dog I could bring it to your hotel. I’ll just ask for Tate at Reception?” I ran my fingers through my hair and took a step back, all boyish charm.
“Thank you so much… sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“I didn’t give it. Bye, Tate, hope you find your dog,” she smiled playfully at me as she shut the door, and if I hadn’t been so hell bent on dismembering her I’d have probably blushed. She made me feel seventeen again in all the right ways.
I’d fed my new toy a lot of lies that afternoon, but I really was staying in the Grand Marina. I had a depressing little room on the fourth floor, and I was bored. There was no TV, no wireless access, and I didn’t exactly have any longstanding friends I could call on… and I’d really rather die than visit my mother. So I did the only reasonable thing I could do… I went to a bar.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” Her voice purred behind me, and I knew without turning round that she was about 5’4, younger than me but definitely old enough to be in there in the first place. She’d do as a distraction from the object of my affections, for now. I fixed my face into the smile I’d be famous for one day and turned to meet her.
“Nope, just passing through. Only here for one night,” I smirked and she batted her eyelashes, letting me know she was game for whatever I had planned. Slut.
“How you liking LA?” Her accent told me she wasn’t from around here either, but no one ever really was. She reminded me of my mother.
“Well,” I raked my fingers through my hair, tousling the curls, and she bit her lip. I had her hooked, the chase would just be foreplay now. “The city is great, but the people…” I trailed off and she leaned in.
“What about the people?”
“The people haven’t been too friendly yet.” I pouted and she giggled, the sound was fake, nothing like my high school girls.
“Oh, that’s a shame. Want to come back to my place? I’ll make it up to you for the rest of them.” I nodded, gesturing for her to lead the way. This was the critical moment, the moment in which the game would be selected. The final test. We’d got to the door before I decided to put my final test into play. I stopped short in the doorway and she turned back a step ahead of me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing. I just… well,” I scratched the back of my head and stared at my feet. I felt the air shift when she stepped towards me, drawn in by the game.
“What’s wrong?” She asked again, voice softer.
“I’m just, I’m not real good with direction, and I have to leave in the morning, would you mind, maybe, coming to my hotel instead?” I looked up at her with a boyish, disarming smile and she smiled back.
“Sure! I know all the hotels around here so it won’t be a problem, silly boy,” she purred the last few words and I internally grimaced.
“Great!” The fake smile was back, “I’ll call a cab.” The cab arrived in just a few minutes, and I slipped in behind her, unseen or unnoticed by the local drunken patrons of the bar. Good. From the moment the engine started up and I’d given the driver our destination, she was all over me, fingers hooked into my belt loops and lips, tongue scraping my neck. I shivered, but not from arousal and not from excitement, but from repulsion. This wasn’t right. I’d never panicked like this before, never been so restless. I didn’t want to get it over with, I just didn’t want to be there at all. She was the wrong girl, I couldn’t kill this slut whilst my pretty high school flower was all alone.
“I’ve, ugh, I’ve” I panted, sweating, feeling trapped and scared for the first time in a long time. No one had made me feel this way since my mother. Did I mention I hate my mother?
“What’s wrong baby?” That was it for me, I was out of the cab and rolling into the impact of collision like a pro… which I guess I am, considering my choice of hobby. The taxi didn’t stop, which I was grateful for, I guess the girl decided I wasn’t worth dealing with the crazy. I sat for a minute or two and tried to regain my composure and regulate my breathing, in, out, in out. It’s cool, Tate, we’re going to be fine. Just gotta get on with it, with this high school kid. Playing games would have been fun, but I couldn’t see how I could function, it would be more torturous for me than her at this point. I felt a little bad for wasting this afternoon’s conversation, though I’d enjoyed it in a completely new, fresh way. Adding a personal touch to the hunt made the kill sweeter.
I’d allow myself just one more, self-indulgent moment with her before the end came. I stood and surveyed my surroundings. Luck must have been on my side tonight, because I was only a few blocks away from her neighbourhood. I could be there in less than 10 minutes if I ran, which I wanted to, but began a leisurely walking pace so as not to draw attention to myself. She would be in the news as early as tomorrow evening, and I didn’t want any busybody neighbours calling in with information about a blonde-haired stranger running through the streets at, I checked my watch, one AM. Feeling like a schoolboy, I approached her house and climbed the tree round the side of it. I didn’t hold out much hope for her window being the one I’d climb to, and I was right to think so. The weaker branches towards the top groaned under my weight and scraped lightly against the window frame. I stilled, trying to sink back and blend in with my surroundings, but I didn’t need to be so cautious, the room belonged to her parents and they were sound asleep. I contemplated killing them while standing at the foot of their bed, but thought better of it. The girl deserved my full attention tonight. I slipped into the darkened hallway, grateful of the years of practice sneaking around. I could move stealthily and soundlessly, with a perfect sense of where I was going.
There were only a few doors off this hallway. The first was a bathroom, the second, a walk in closet, and the third, finally, was her room. I knew it as soon as I opened the door, before I’d even seen her. The air was warmer, denser, and the room smelt like cigarettes and something sweet and girly. I smiled, closing the door behind me, and paced silently to the foot of her bed. She was peaceful, sound asleep, curled on her side with her hair splayed around her. Those wispy locks would look beautiful wrapped around my fingers, tightly, tightly, tighter. She stirred a little and I crouched down, just a precaution. She let out a sigh and nuzzled the pillow behind her head with her cheek. I smiled and crept round to the front of her bed.
“There’s my girl,” I whispered, letting my fingers just brush against the hair splayed farthest away from her. She didn’t stir, but I knew I couldn’t stay there. I didn’t want to kill her. The realisation hit me like a tonne of bricks. Maybe, one day, I would have to, but I wanted to know her. I cast my eyes around the room, settling on a framed photograph on her bedside table. The picture was of her, and she was smiling happily out from the embrace of a tanned, preppy looking boy. My stomach churned at the idea of someone touching her, someone kissing her. She was mine. I stood and crossed the room to the door, briskly. Just as I was exiting, I noticed a book resting on her desk. It was a plain, ruled notebook, nondescript, but it was not the cover so much as the handwritten label, which caught my eye. It read ‘Property of Violet Harmon’. I smiled, closing my eyes and shaping my lips around the syllables a few times, committing them to memory. Violet suited her, it was as much a throwback to my glorious nineties days as was her clothing, her tapes, her records strewn across the floor. I could almost imagine her living here; picture her movements in my mind. It made her more real, more real than any of the other victims had been. She was a kid, just a kid, and everything clicked into place. I’d been going about this the wrong way, the whole time. The only moment I’d ever felt truly accomplished was when I liberated my school so many years ago. Since then, I’d been killing women, grown women, strangers, and I’d never been able to fill the void… never felt the way I’d felt that day. I needed to know the victims, know them personally. Violet Harmon would be my most liberating victory of all, because I would know her in every way before I took her life. I left the house, silent as I came, and returned to the hotel room. I needed to get some sleep before school tomorrow morning.
I waited obediently round a few blocks away from her house, fresh and ready to go at half past eight, though I wanted to see what she was wearing, see what she looked like first thing in the morning. I waited and waited, she was running late. Maybe she’d woken up late? I jiggled my foot erratically against the floor, and I was just about to get out and jog round to her house, just to check, when her car clattered round the corner and past me with an unhealthy rumble, and I started my engine silently, thankful for the sleek, nondescript nature of my own vehicle. I stayed a car behind her the whole way so as not to draw attention to myself, but it was just a precaution, everyone who could afford to drove to school, so the closer we ventured towards the building the busier the roads got. When we were a few blocks from the school, however, she veered off down a side street and I slammed on my breaks, panicked. Had she caught on, become suspicious of me? It wouldn’t be logical, if she thought she was being followed, to move away from the most crowded part of town, but she had done so. I decided to wait, mapping out exit routes and deciding that she was probably going to school, no matter what, so I would wait for her.
I parked up in one of the less popular parking lots and pulled the prop backpack, complete with a forged map of Westfield High and some useless old textbooks, from the backseat. Enter, Tate Langdon, transfer from out of state. It was a huge risk, entering the building that knew me so intimately, but it was a risk I had to take, for Violet Harmon, and it was a risk that thrilled me to the core. Last I’d heard, some of the teachers were still here, including the sad librarian with a hero complex, who had survived my shots. I wondered if he’d remember me, if he’d recognise my face, and decided that although the fear in his eyes would be an interesting experiment in itself, I couldn’t risk it when so much else was at stake. I’d never get to Violet if he alerted someone to my presence. I slumped casually against the steps leading up to the entrance and pulled out a dusty looking textbook, holding it up to conceal my face and scanning the crowds for her over the top through narrowed eyes. She wasn’t coming in, and it was getting later and later. The first bell had rung already, and the herd of cattle chattering around me was getting thinner and thinner with each passing minute as students hurried to make it to classes before the late bell. I felt a shove as someone muscled his or her way past me and spun, enraged.
“Whoa, sorry man,” the guy said, hands palm open in a submissive gesture. I nodded, forcing myself to calm down, and turned to sit again. The kid had looked… familiar. It was impossible; of course, I didn’t know anyone in this town anymore, especially not some kid young enough to be in high school, other than my Violet of course. Violet. Violet Harmon, the girl with the boyfriend. The boyfriend. The kid I’d just met was her boyfriend. Well luck was really, really on my side this morning. I pushed off the wall, scanned the crowd one last, desperate time for her face, before sighing and hurrying into the building. He’d disappeared already and I realised as I came to a grinding halt that I had absolutely no idea where to find him. I didn’t know his name, or his class schedule. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to find those things out, he’s not the one I’m interested in anyway. My stomach lurched at a sudden, horrifying realisation. I’d have to ask one of these people. Ask. Me. Ask. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, hard, and decided I’d have to make Violet pay for this later. I’d have to bite her tongue out so she’d know how much stress she’d put me under. It wouldn’t be enough, but my plans for her were just beginning to take form, and she was going to be my most creative project yet. A real work of art.
I saw a girl standing at her locker, alone, and decided it would be easier to talk to one person over a group of giggling morons.
“Hi,” she jumped a little and slammed her locker shut.
“Hi?” She phrased her greeting like a question, and that’s something I really couldn’t stand. If I didn’t want Violet so much I’d have happily slammed her locker shut on her neck until it snapped, just to punish her for that goddamn inflection.
“Do you know where I could find Violet Harmon? I’m her cousin, I just flew in from New York and I’ve got some bad news for her… you know, the kind of news you really have to tell someone in person,” I put on a sombre expression and her eyes widened, and then softened, disarmed.
“I’m very sorry to hear that. But I’m not sure where she is, I haven’t seen her come through here yet and her locker is only two down from mine,” she gestured at the door of her locker and I stored it’s location and number away for future reference. “I know she has Phys. Ed. Second, but I don’t know where she is first. Maybe you could ask Gabe?” I blinked back, attention fully on the conversation now.
“Is that the boyfriend she’s always gushing about?” I rolled my eyes and winked at her and she smiled.
“Yeah, those two make a great couple. He’d probably be better help in finding her than I am, and he’s got English lit first, probably on his way there now. Do you need me to take you?” She was being nice now, completely open and trusting. It was funny how well people could respond to obvious manipulation and how easy they were to control when trigger words were used. I made sure to store ‘bad news and close family’ to memory for future use, should I need it.
“No, it’s okay thanks, I’ve already been to sign into the visitors log in reception, they gave me a map,” I brandished the folded map quickly before slipping it into my pocket.
“Alright, well, I hope you find her,” and the girl was hitching up her backpack and walking away in the opposite direction to the English department.
I didn’t need to consult the map, of course, I knew where I was going. I’d walked these halls every day for weeks, months, years in my teenage years and that’s the kind of scar that never goes away. There was a group of boys milling around the English corridor, obviously trying to drag out the last few moments before class without getting tardy. I noticed ‘Gabe’ propped up against the wall and heavily surrounded by a meat head entourage. I walked confidently up to the group, rearranging my features into the next disguise, because somehow I didn’t think the cousin act would work on someone so close to Violet. I was instantly jealous of him, though I wouldn’t have to be troubled by such thoughts for much longer, because whether or not he lived through my visit, Violet would be mine soon in ways she could never belong to anyone else. Gabe locked eyes with me when I was a foot or so away from the group and pushed off the wall with the sole of his foot. Something flashed through his eyes when they locked with mine, recognition, definitely, and something more tangible, like… fear, perhaps? I smiled internally at the thought.
“Can we help you?” Gabe asked, folding his arms across his chest in a gesture that was probably supposed to be menacing or gangster but just came off pathetic and childish to someone like me.
“Yeah, hi, I’m the new English lit teaching aid,” because, lets face it, I look too old to pass off as a student one on one.
“Oh,” the tension dropped out of his stance immediately, mechanically. He was used to being in trouble then. Violet liked bad boys? Popular bad boys, by the looks of the group gathered around him. I wouldn’t have suspected that of her, but hey, he was just a filler either way. She couldn’t very well have sat around all alone while she just waited for him, could she?
“Gabe, right?”
“Right.” I consulted one of my books, pretending to look official and disinterested.
“You need to come with me. It won’t take long, I promise.” I gave him a bored, strained smile, trying to make it look like I was just ‘doing my job’, which in a twisted sort of way, I guess I was. He hesitated, and I made a mental note to practice that particular look more often, but he hitched his backpack further up his shoulders, exchanged glances with a few of his entourage, and followed me. I led him out of the school building and across the quad towards the library.
“So what did I do? Or, what has someone TOLD you I’ve done, more to the point?” The confidence was back in his voice, he was the laid back, effortlessly cool bad boy again, the kind of guy I hated in high school.
“You’re not in trouble,” I shrugged and shouldered open the door to the library, glancing around as inconspicuously as I could.
“I just need to go over a few things with a student, and yours was the name suggested to me.” He nodded, face dropping into a bored expression, and I tried very hard to not choke up as nostalgia hit hard. The library looked almost the same. Other aspects of the building had changed, the paint on the walls, the tiling had been replaced in a few parts, but the library remained, holding out like a gloomy vigil, waiting for me to return. I wished I could have a few minutes with the place, but Gabe was standing behind me and his eyes were working between me and the door.
“Could you tell me which books are on your reading list for the semester?” I rose one eyebrow in a challenge, conveying in my look that this was a test, I already knew the answer. He blushed, which was adorable, and began listing them as best he could.
The reading list was uninspiring, something Violet and I would hate to read, but it kept him busy and kept him following my lead deep into the stacks, deep, deep, deep to the heart of the library, where no one ever seemed to bother venturing to because all that was kept here were old records. He seemed to figure that out as he looked around, trailing off half way through listing the Shakespeare works set for the year, and met my eyes nervously.
“Sir? What do you need from here?” His voice was small, the bravado and confidence gone, and I grinned, all teeth as I stepped around him.
“Ah, Gabe. You ask too many questions. Let me ask you one. Do you know where Violet is?” He blinked.
“Violet? Violet Harmon? She’s my girlfriend. Um. Where she is? I don’t know, sir, is she in trouble?” I nodded, gravely.
“The worst kind of trouble. She’s got herself a stalking serial killer on her tracks. Probably doesn’t have long left, poor girl, he’s closing in on her fast.” Gabe swallowed hard, eyes bugging out.
“Sir, is that supposed to be funny? Because, um, I don’t get the joke.” I chuckled, the sound was dark even to my own ears.
“I don’t think serial killers are anything to joke about. If you don’t know where she is, you’re no use to me. Goodbye, Gabe. I’m sure you’ll thank me for this one day.” I’d been studying the ledgers stacked on these shelves and pulled a heavy looking one from a low shelf.
“Thank you for wha-“ he was cut off by the corner of the book smashing into his face, clipping his jaw and slicing heavy into his lip. He stumbled backwards, deeper into the heart of the library, mouth gushing, but I knew he wouldn’t get far. I knew these shelves, this layout. I used to hide in here, when the jocks would come looking for me, or the cheerleaders would mock me, or even when classes were calling and I really, really didn’t want to do geometry. His breathing was loud, I could probably find him on that alone, would enjoy the hunt in a new way if time was not so important. I found him cowering round three shelves and frowned as I came to a stop before him. He’d given up disappointingly early.
“Please, please don’t,” oh, right, he hadn’t given up, he’s just changed tactics, to the one almost everyone ended up with. Begging for his life, as if his existence was supposed to mean something to me. People never ceased to amaze me. I sighed.
“Look, it’s nothing personal, well, actually,” I brought the book down suddenly, feeling the thud and enjoying the feeling of book hitting bone with a meaty smack. I’d broken his nose and fractured his skull, though the skull injury had been caused by the edge of the shelf he’d been thrown back onto. “It is, kind of. You should have stayed away from Violet.” As I smashed the book down again and again onto his face, I realised that my reason was illogical. Violet had not been mine, tangibly, when Gabe had found her, but that line of argument was pale and shimmery and barely there. Nothing could stop me from delivering blow after blow, not that it would have mattered either way at this point. Gabe’s brain was beginning to swell up out through the cracks in his skull, mushy and wet looking. His eyes had rolled back and what little of his skin that was not washed with crimson was ashen. He was as good as dead, already, but I had to make sure the job was completed. No loose ends. I angled the book purposefully downwards, bottom left hand corner first, and drove the corner into one of his rolling, blind eyes. The eyeball gave with a pressurised little pop and Gabe jerked, then stilled as the book lodged into his brain. I let go of the book and was delighted to find it remained embedded in his skull. I was almost tempted to take a picture, but the less hard evidence you had the harder it was to convict you, and a picture was pretty hard evidence. Besides, who would I show it to? I would remember the sight forever, I didn’t need a picture to help me with that.
“Don’t worry, man,” I smirked down at what was left of him, “I’ll take good care of Violet. She’ll barely have time to miss you before I make her forget why she should even care about you,” I blew him a mocking kiss and made my way out of the stacks, rubbing my gore-stained hands on the wall and smoothing my hair out of my face, grateful that his death hadn’t been particularly splashy even though I usually preferred that. Violets would be.
It didn’t take long for the police to swarm into the school and surround it, but I was safely away, parked across the street and eating takeout when they arrived. Violets car was parked in the main lot, but she hadn’t returned to it yet. I guessed she was inside, someone would have broken the news to her. I wondered if she’d cry. I wished I could see it, if she cried, could see what it was like for her to cry for someone else. It would be softer, less meaningful, than how she would cry for herself when I was done with her. It was hours later when the school doors finally opened at students began filing out, sombre, silent. Gabe must have been real popular here, but I’d already guessed that. Killing him hadn’t been all that strategic, but I needed him out of the way. And I needed Violet to know I was serious. I was going to wait for her to come out, so I could make sure she got home from school okay, but I was struck, suddenly, with a better idea… something with a more personal touch. I sped away, winding through the familiar streets on the route I’d memorised the moment I saw her and parked around the corner from her street. I scribbled a note onto the back of a napkin and jogged round to her house. There were no cars in the driveway, her parents weren’t home yet. She’d still be the first in, but I wanted to make absolutely sure the note didn’t fall into the wrong hands before she got to it, so I climbed the tree by the side of her house and slipped into her parents room again. The house looked different by day, more homely, and I smiled, glad Violet had a good childhood with loving parents, glad she would have something to look back on with fondness in her last moments. I snuck into her room and placed the note on her pillow.
‘Violet. Don’t be scared. He was an obstacle, but he’s gone. I’ll be in touch.’ It was just specific enough to coax Violet to the correct meaning and conclusion, but just ambiguous enough to discredit, wouldn’t hold up in court as evidence, should I be caught. I waited around the block in my car until her familiar beaten up vehicle passed me, and then drove back to my hotel for a well-earned evenings rest after a productive day.
( Coming Home 2/2 )
Author: thedevotchka
Summary: Tate Langdon shot up his high school in 1994 and walked away from it. Now, he’s back to finish what he started.
Spoilers/Warnings/ Triggers: Violence, rape, graphic scenes.
Author’s Note: Thanks so much for giving me the opportunity to be a part of this exchange, it’s been the most challenging, but ultimately the most rewarding, fic I’ve ever done!
Coming Home 1/2
“Please don’t do this… I have money, please!” She was weak but hysterical, looking beautiful bound by a rope I fashioned from the hair of her mother, sister, aunt and daughter. I was lucky she had so many female relatives. She probably didn’t know what was going to happen to her when she brought me into her home, charmed by my dimples and my curls and my assurance that of course she was beautiful. Of course. Now, now she was beautiful. I chuckled, a sound that vibrated deliciously in my throat.
“You think I care about your money, slut?” She whined, head dropping onto her tattered shirt. I wasn’t interested in her, not like that, Jesus, she was old enough to be my mother.
“Please,” it was a cracked whisper, she was broken.
“Why would you want to live, anyway?” I sat across the room from her, perched on the desk with my elbows on my knees.
“I… I-“
“I mean, your life would be a nightmare. One big nightmare. You’d see me everywhere, round every corner, wondering if I was coming back to finish it. And your family is dead, too. Who would want you now?” I stood, bouncing onto my feet and stepping across the room to crawl up the bed on all fours between her legs.
“I-“
“You just want to live, right? That irrational, instinctual need to survive. I understand.” I flashed her a grin, cocking my head to the side like I practiced every day in my mirror. I’d perfected the trusting, innocent look to the point where I was willing to climb into my own goddamn Cadillac, she looked up at me with watery eyes set back in a blotchy face. I reached a hand down to her, sitting back on my heels and stroking her face. She leaned away from my touch.
“It’s too late for that,” I murmured, voice a low purr like a lover, and her eyes bulged as my fingers flew to her throat and squeezed. It was satisfying, seeing her skin flush and then pale, purple, sickening like the rapid progression of a bruise after a bludgeoning. When she was limp and decidedly dead, I packed up and left, as I always did. No calling card, no forwarding address. I didn’t want to play mind games with the NJSP but that’s kind of inevitable when you’re a serial killer with a trademark method. Besides, this was the last they’d be faced with, because I was leaving. My name is Tate Langdon, and I’m finally going home.
It was risky, too risky to be seen here. I’d relied on time to age me and to make the people forget, but I’d been cursed with a beautiful face and people stared, even after all this time. I gripped the steering wheel tight, promising myself I would linger only a moment or two more. Five minutes at the most. Just long enough to see them all leave, to scatter across the asphalt and to remember how they had scattered for me, a very long time ago on a day that would haunt their parents but would be nothing more than a tale of caution to them. I heard the bell clank heavy from somewhere inside the building and slumped low as I could, trying to meld with the battered leather seat I perched in. The students spilled out through the doors, laughing, chattering, and texting. It had nothing on the beauty of the screams and laboured, shallow breaths of the victims I’d allowed to run, run, run across the parking lot before picking them off easily with the shotgun I’d had stashed under my bed for months.
I’d savoured each moment, making sure my victims saw my face before they died. Some of them begged for their lives, but pleading was easy to ignore. The short skirts and tacky shirts reminded me why I hated this decade so much, and I found myself growing nostalgic for the torn tights and dirty flannel of the nineties, though I’d hated how much I’d fit in at the time. I hadn’t been expecting her. In hindsight, now, I can look back and reason that I’d responded as I did, without proper precaution, because I hadn’t been expecting her. But then, all I could do was stare. She was everything I’d ever looked for. Small, fragile and alone. No one would ask too many questions about her, if they noticed she disappeared at all. She wore an ankle length floral dress that hung off her frame in an ugly way, but the defiance in her stare made it clear she either didn’t care or didn’t notice the way people snickered at her. She wasn’t strong though, that much was clear. She would be an easy target, and easy wasn’t usually what I went for, but she reminded me so much of the girls from my first killing, my glorious awakening, that I knew I had to have her. I had to have her and savour her and take her life in a dignified and beautiful way. This one would be my trophy.
In hindsight, of course, it didn’t work out as rational as I’d pictured it. She had a car, a shitty one but a car all the same, so I couldn’t snatch her on a walk home. I followed her though, always a few cars behind, or just around the corner, but she didn’t glance back, not once. She didn’t expect me, which was the beautiful part. Murderers and rapists always went after the pretty, popular girls, not girls like her. Not the quiet, plain, virgin teenagers… they were safe. They were safe from everyone but me, the charismatic killer with a penchant for the past. She veered into the driveway of a modern, nondescript house, like any other on the street, and shoved the door closed with her shoulder as she left, though her hands were free. I parked just around the corner and re-approached the house on foot. I’d found, through years and years of practice, that so long as you look confident in what you’re doing, people rarely question you. So I walked, quite purposefully and confidently, up to her front door.
There were no cars in the driveway but hers, but there was space and a fresh looking oil stain that suggested there should be. If I was lucky, very, very lucky, she would be alone. I knocked, three sharp raps, and stood a little back on the porch so as not to look menacing in any way. She answered, a little gust as the door opened blew a few strands of hair in front of her face and I noted that it was not as blonde as I’d originally seen, in the sunlight, but darker and filled with many different strains of blonde and brown and ash. I put on that pretty smile, you know, the one I practiced in the mirror a lot, and she blushed. Good.
“Can I help you?” She crossed her arms against her chest, as a barrier to my eyes, but I didn’t care right now for what she was concealing. There would be time, oh yes, time for the breasts and the ribs and the heart, but my eyes were drawn to the way her sleeves had slipped up, revealing fine, red lines. She was a cutter. I cheered internally; she was already so tragic that no one would really look too closely if she disappeared. They would probably peg her as a runaway case.
“Hi, yeah, maybe. I’m Tate.” I held my hand out and she eyed it, but didn’t accept my greeting. Oh well.
“Hi… Tate… can I help you?” She reiterated her question, and I noticed she’d moved her arms away from herself and was clutching the door, ready to slam it shut on me at any moment.
“Yeah, hopefully. I lost my dog around here, this morning. I’ve been knocking house to house all day looking for him. Little Westie, cutest thing you’d ever see, but an absolute menace if you let him off the leash.” I let a little chuckle escape, perfectly timed, and it had the desired effect as she loosened her grip on the doorframe and smiled shyly back at me.
“No, I’m really sorry but I haven’t. Do you live around here? I’ll let you know if I see him.” I thought for a moment, wracking my brain for a suitable response. This was make or break time. I’d disarmed her for now, but if I took too long in responding she’d become suspicious again.
“That’s the really awkward part,” I glanced around and then leaned in comically, she leaned a little away from me. “It’s not my dog.” She blinked at me.
“If it’s not your dog… then…” she trailed off, obviously confused, but her eyes were wide and open, she wasn’t suspicious yet.
“It’s my mother’s dog, she lives a few streets away. I’m staying at the Grand Marina, just visiting for a couple of days, but my mom’s getting too old to walk him, so I said I would… she’ll be real sad if she finds out I lost him.” The girl nodded, her expression serious, and I wanted to laugh at how easily I’d dragged her into my game. With a doll this willing, the play could go on for days, weeks, maybe even months if I could control myself that long.
“Well…” she seemed to hesitate, glancing at the ground and then back to me. “I guess, if you don’t want your mom to know…” I nodded, encouraging her on. “If I see the dog I could bring it to your hotel. I’ll just ask for Tate at Reception?” I ran my fingers through my hair and took a step back, all boyish charm.
“Thank you so much… sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“I didn’t give it. Bye, Tate, hope you find your dog,” she smiled playfully at me as she shut the door, and if I hadn’t been so hell bent on dismembering her I’d have probably blushed. She made me feel seventeen again in all the right ways.
I’d fed my new toy a lot of lies that afternoon, but I really was staying in the Grand Marina. I had a depressing little room on the fourth floor, and I was bored. There was no TV, no wireless access, and I didn’t exactly have any longstanding friends I could call on… and I’d really rather die than visit my mother. So I did the only reasonable thing I could do… I went to a bar.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” Her voice purred behind me, and I knew without turning round that she was about 5’4, younger than me but definitely old enough to be in there in the first place. She’d do as a distraction from the object of my affections, for now. I fixed my face into the smile I’d be famous for one day and turned to meet her.
“Nope, just passing through. Only here for one night,” I smirked and she batted her eyelashes, letting me know she was game for whatever I had planned. Slut.
“How you liking LA?” Her accent told me she wasn’t from around here either, but no one ever really was. She reminded me of my mother.
“Well,” I raked my fingers through my hair, tousling the curls, and she bit her lip. I had her hooked, the chase would just be foreplay now. “The city is great, but the people…” I trailed off and she leaned in.
“What about the people?”
“The people haven’t been too friendly yet.” I pouted and she giggled, the sound was fake, nothing like my high school girls.
“Oh, that’s a shame. Want to come back to my place? I’ll make it up to you for the rest of them.” I nodded, gesturing for her to lead the way. This was the critical moment, the moment in which the game would be selected. The final test. We’d got to the door before I decided to put my final test into play. I stopped short in the doorway and she turned back a step ahead of me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing. I just… well,” I scratched the back of my head and stared at my feet. I felt the air shift when she stepped towards me, drawn in by the game.
“What’s wrong?” She asked again, voice softer.
“I’m just, I’m not real good with direction, and I have to leave in the morning, would you mind, maybe, coming to my hotel instead?” I looked up at her with a boyish, disarming smile and she smiled back.
“Sure! I know all the hotels around here so it won’t be a problem, silly boy,” she purred the last few words and I internally grimaced.
“Great!” The fake smile was back, “I’ll call a cab.” The cab arrived in just a few minutes, and I slipped in behind her, unseen or unnoticed by the local drunken patrons of the bar. Good. From the moment the engine started up and I’d given the driver our destination, she was all over me, fingers hooked into my belt loops and lips, tongue scraping my neck. I shivered, but not from arousal and not from excitement, but from repulsion. This wasn’t right. I’d never panicked like this before, never been so restless. I didn’t want to get it over with, I just didn’t want to be there at all. She was the wrong girl, I couldn’t kill this slut whilst my pretty high school flower was all alone.
“I’ve, ugh, I’ve” I panted, sweating, feeling trapped and scared for the first time in a long time. No one had made me feel this way since my mother. Did I mention I hate my mother?
“What’s wrong baby?” That was it for me, I was out of the cab and rolling into the impact of collision like a pro… which I guess I am, considering my choice of hobby. The taxi didn’t stop, which I was grateful for, I guess the girl decided I wasn’t worth dealing with the crazy. I sat for a minute or two and tried to regain my composure and regulate my breathing, in, out, in out. It’s cool, Tate, we’re going to be fine. Just gotta get on with it, with this high school kid. Playing games would have been fun, but I couldn’t see how I could function, it would be more torturous for me than her at this point. I felt a little bad for wasting this afternoon’s conversation, though I’d enjoyed it in a completely new, fresh way. Adding a personal touch to the hunt made the kill sweeter.
I’d allow myself just one more, self-indulgent moment with her before the end came. I stood and surveyed my surroundings. Luck must have been on my side tonight, because I was only a few blocks away from her neighbourhood. I could be there in less than 10 minutes if I ran, which I wanted to, but began a leisurely walking pace so as not to draw attention to myself. She would be in the news as early as tomorrow evening, and I didn’t want any busybody neighbours calling in with information about a blonde-haired stranger running through the streets at, I checked my watch, one AM. Feeling like a schoolboy, I approached her house and climbed the tree round the side of it. I didn’t hold out much hope for her window being the one I’d climb to, and I was right to think so. The weaker branches towards the top groaned under my weight and scraped lightly against the window frame. I stilled, trying to sink back and blend in with my surroundings, but I didn’t need to be so cautious, the room belonged to her parents and they were sound asleep. I contemplated killing them while standing at the foot of their bed, but thought better of it. The girl deserved my full attention tonight. I slipped into the darkened hallway, grateful of the years of practice sneaking around. I could move stealthily and soundlessly, with a perfect sense of where I was going.
There were only a few doors off this hallway. The first was a bathroom, the second, a walk in closet, and the third, finally, was her room. I knew it as soon as I opened the door, before I’d even seen her. The air was warmer, denser, and the room smelt like cigarettes and something sweet and girly. I smiled, closing the door behind me, and paced silently to the foot of her bed. She was peaceful, sound asleep, curled on her side with her hair splayed around her. Those wispy locks would look beautiful wrapped around my fingers, tightly, tightly, tighter. She stirred a little and I crouched down, just a precaution. She let out a sigh and nuzzled the pillow behind her head with her cheek. I smiled and crept round to the front of her bed.
“There’s my girl,” I whispered, letting my fingers just brush against the hair splayed farthest away from her. She didn’t stir, but I knew I couldn’t stay there. I didn’t want to kill her. The realisation hit me like a tonne of bricks. Maybe, one day, I would have to, but I wanted to know her. I cast my eyes around the room, settling on a framed photograph on her bedside table. The picture was of her, and she was smiling happily out from the embrace of a tanned, preppy looking boy. My stomach churned at the idea of someone touching her, someone kissing her. She was mine. I stood and crossed the room to the door, briskly. Just as I was exiting, I noticed a book resting on her desk. It was a plain, ruled notebook, nondescript, but it was not the cover so much as the handwritten label, which caught my eye. It read ‘Property of Violet Harmon’. I smiled, closing my eyes and shaping my lips around the syllables a few times, committing them to memory. Violet suited her, it was as much a throwback to my glorious nineties days as was her clothing, her tapes, her records strewn across the floor. I could almost imagine her living here; picture her movements in my mind. It made her more real, more real than any of the other victims had been. She was a kid, just a kid, and everything clicked into place. I’d been going about this the wrong way, the whole time. The only moment I’d ever felt truly accomplished was when I liberated my school so many years ago. Since then, I’d been killing women, grown women, strangers, and I’d never been able to fill the void… never felt the way I’d felt that day. I needed to know the victims, know them personally. Violet Harmon would be my most liberating victory of all, because I would know her in every way before I took her life. I left the house, silent as I came, and returned to the hotel room. I needed to get some sleep before school tomorrow morning.
I waited obediently round a few blocks away from her house, fresh and ready to go at half past eight, though I wanted to see what she was wearing, see what she looked like first thing in the morning. I waited and waited, she was running late. Maybe she’d woken up late? I jiggled my foot erratically against the floor, and I was just about to get out and jog round to her house, just to check, when her car clattered round the corner and past me with an unhealthy rumble, and I started my engine silently, thankful for the sleek, nondescript nature of my own vehicle. I stayed a car behind her the whole way so as not to draw attention to myself, but it was just a precaution, everyone who could afford to drove to school, so the closer we ventured towards the building the busier the roads got. When we were a few blocks from the school, however, she veered off down a side street and I slammed on my breaks, panicked. Had she caught on, become suspicious of me? It wouldn’t be logical, if she thought she was being followed, to move away from the most crowded part of town, but she had done so. I decided to wait, mapping out exit routes and deciding that she was probably going to school, no matter what, so I would wait for her.
I parked up in one of the less popular parking lots and pulled the prop backpack, complete with a forged map of Westfield High and some useless old textbooks, from the backseat. Enter, Tate Langdon, transfer from out of state. It was a huge risk, entering the building that knew me so intimately, but it was a risk I had to take, for Violet Harmon, and it was a risk that thrilled me to the core. Last I’d heard, some of the teachers were still here, including the sad librarian with a hero complex, who had survived my shots. I wondered if he’d remember me, if he’d recognise my face, and decided that although the fear in his eyes would be an interesting experiment in itself, I couldn’t risk it when so much else was at stake. I’d never get to Violet if he alerted someone to my presence. I slumped casually against the steps leading up to the entrance and pulled out a dusty looking textbook, holding it up to conceal my face and scanning the crowds for her over the top through narrowed eyes. She wasn’t coming in, and it was getting later and later. The first bell had rung already, and the herd of cattle chattering around me was getting thinner and thinner with each passing minute as students hurried to make it to classes before the late bell. I felt a shove as someone muscled his or her way past me and spun, enraged.
“Whoa, sorry man,” the guy said, hands palm open in a submissive gesture. I nodded, forcing myself to calm down, and turned to sit again. The kid had looked… familiar. It was impossible; of course, I didn’t know anyone in this town anymore, especially not some kid young enough to be in high school, other than my Violet of course. Violet. Violet Harmon, the girl with the boyfriend. The boyfriend. The kid I’d just met was her boyfriend. Well luck was really, really on my side this morning. I pushed off the wall, scanned the crowd one last, desperate time for her face, before sighing and hurrying into the building. He’d disappeared already and I realised as I came to a grinding halt that I had absolutely no idea where to find him. I didn’t know his name, or his class schedule. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to find those things out, he’s not the one I’m interested in anyway. My stomach lurched at a sudden, horrifying realisation. I’d have to ask one of these people. Ask. Me. Ask. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, hard, and decided I’d have to make Violet pay for this later. I’d have to bite her tongue out so she’d know how much stress she’d put me under. It wouldn’t be enough, but my plans for her were just beginning to take form, and she was going to be my most creative project yet. A real work of art.
I saw a girl standing at her locker, alone, and decided it would be easier to talk to one person over a group of giggling morons.
“Hi,” she jumped a little and slammed her locker shut.
“Hi?” She phrased her greeting like a question, and that’s something I really couldn’t stand. If I didn’t want Violet so much I’d have happily slammed her locker shut on her neck until it snapped, just to punish her for that goddamn inflection.
“Do you know where I could find Violet Harmon? I’m her cousin, I just flew in from New York and I’ve got some bad news for her… you know, the kind of news you really have to tell someone in person,” I put on a sombre expression and her eyes widened, and then softened, disarmed.
“I’m very sorry to hear that. But I’m not sure where she is, I haven’t seen her come through here yet and her locker is only two down from mine,” she gestured at the door of her locker and I stored it’s location and number away for future reference. “I know she has Phys. Ed. Second, but I don’t know where she is first. Maybe you could ask Gabe?” I blinked back, attention fully on the conversation now.
“Is that the boyfriend she’s always gushing about?” I rolled my eyes and winked at her and she smiled.
“Yeah, those two make a great couple. He’d probably be better help in finding her than I am, and he’s got English lit first, probably on his way there now. Do you need me to take you?” She was being nice now, completely open and trusting. It was funny how well people could respond to obvious manipulation and how easy they were to control when trigger words were used. I made sure to store ‘bad news and close family’ to memory for future use, should I need it.
“No, it’s okay thanks, I’ve already been to sign into the visitors log in reception, they gave me a map,” I brandished the folded map quickly before slipping it into my pocket.
“Alright, well, I hope you find her,” and the girl was hitching up her backpack and walking away in the opposite direction to the English department.
I didn’t need to consult the map, of course, I knew where I was going. I’d walked these halls every day for weeks, months, years in my teenage years and that’s the kind of scar that never goes away. There was a group of boys milling around the English corridor, obviously trying to drag out the last few moments before class without getting tardy. I noticed ‘Gabe’ propped up against the wall and heavily surrounded by a meat head entourage. I walked confidently up to the group, rearranging my features into the next disguise, because somehow I didn’t think the cousin act would work on someone so close to Violet. I was instantly jealous of him, though I wouldn’t have to be troubled by such thoughts for much longer, because whether or not he lived through my visit, Violet would be mine soon in ways she could never belong to anyone else. Gabe locked eyes with me when I was a foot or so away from the group and pushed off the wall with the sole of his foot. Something flashed through his eyes when they locked with mine, recognition, definitely, and something more tangible, like… fear, perhaps? I smiled internally at the thought.
“Can we help you?” Gabe asked, folding his arms across his chest in a gesture that was probably supposed to be menacing or gangster but just came off pathetic and childish to someone like me.
“Yeah, hi, I’m the new English lit teaching aid,” because, lets face it, I look too old to pass off as a student one on one.
“Oh,” the tension dropped out of his stance immediately, mechanically. He was used to being in trouble then. Violet liked bad boys? Popular bad boys, by the looks of the group gathered around him. I wouldn’t have suspected that of her, but hey, he was just a filler either way. She couldn’t very well have sat around all alone while she just waited for him, could she?
“Gabe, right?”
“Right.” I consulted one of my books, pretending to look official and disinterested.
“You need to come with me. It won’t take long, I promise.” I gave him a bored, strained smile, trying to make it look like I was just ‘doing my job’, which in a twisted sort of way, I guess I was. He hesitated, and I made a mental note to practice that particular look more often, but he hitched his backpack further up his shoulders, exchanged glances with a few of his entourage, and followed me. I led him out of the school building and across the quad towards the library.
“So what did I do? Or, what has someone TOLD you I’ve done, more to the point?” The confidence was back in his voice, he was the laid back, effortlessly cool bad boy again, the kind of guy I hated in high school.
“You’re not in trouble,” I shrugged and shouldered open the door to the library, glancing around as inconspicuously as I could.
“I just need to go over a few things with a student, and yours was the name suggested to me.” He nodded, face dropping into a bored expression, and I tried very hard to not choke up as nostalgia hit hard. The library looked almost the same. Other aspects of the building had changed, the paint on the walls, the tiling had been replaced in a few parts, but the library remained, holding out like a gloomy vigil, waiting for me to return. I wished I could have a few minutes with the place, but Gabe was standing behind me and his eyes were working between me and the door.
“Could you tell me which books are on your reading list for the semester?” I rose one eyebrow in a challenge, conveying in my look that this was a test, I already knew the answer. He blushed, which was adorable, and began listing them as best he could.
The reading list was uninspiring, something Violet and I would hate to read, but it kept him busy and kept him following my lead deep into the stacks, deep, deep, deep to the heart of the library, where no one ever seemed to bother venturing to because all that was kept here were old records. He seemed to figure that out as he looked around, trailing off half way through listing the Shakespeare works set for the year, and met my eyes nervously.
“Sir? What do you need from here?” His voice was small, the bravado and confidence gone, and I grinned, all teeth as I stepped around him.
“Ah, Gabe. You ask too many questions. Let me ask you one. Do you know where Violet is?” He blinked.
“Violet? Violet Harmon? She’s my girlfriend. Um. Where she is? I don’t know, sir, is she in trouble?” I nodded, gravely.
“The worst kind of trouble. She’s got herself a stalking serial killer on her tracks. Probably doesn’t have long left, poor girl, he’s closing in on her fast.” Gabe swallowed hard, eyes bugging out.
“Sir, is that supposed to be funny? Because, um, I don’t get the joke.” I chuckled, the sound was dark even to my own ears.
“I don’t think serial killers are anything to joke about. If you don’t know where she is, you’re no use to me. Goodbye, Gabe. I’m sure you’ll thank me for this one day.” I’d been studying the ledgers stacked on these shelves and pulled a heavy looking one from a low shelf.
“Thank you for wha-“ he was cut off by the corner of the book smashing into his face, clipping his jaw and slicing heavy into his lip. He stumbled backwards, deeper into the heart of the library, mouth gushing, but I knew he wouldn’t get far. I knew these shelves, this layout. I used to hide in here, when the jocks would come looking for me, or the cheerleaders would mock me, or even when classes were calling and I really, really didn’t want to do geometry. His breathing was loud, I could probably find him on that alone, would enjoy the hunt in a new way if time was not so important. I found him cowering round three shelves and frowned as I came to a stop before him. He’d given up disappointingly early.
“Please, please don’t,” oh, right, he hadn’t given up, he’s just changed tactics, to the one almost everyone ended up with. Begging for his life, as if his existence was supposed to mean something to me. People never ceased to amaze me. I sighed.
“Look, it’s nothing personal, well, actually,” I brought the book down suddenly, feeling the thud and enjoying the feeling of book hitting bone with a meaty smack. I’d broken his nose and fractured his skull, though the skull injury had been caused by the edge of the shelf he’d been thrown back onto. “It is, kind of. You should have stayed away from Violet.” As I smashed the book down again and again onto his face, I realised that my reason was illogical. Violet had not been mine, tangibly, when Gabe had found her, but that line of argument was pale and shimmery and barely there. Nothing could stop me from delivering blow after blow, not that it would have mattered either way at this point. Gabe’s brain was beginning to swell up out through the cracks in his skull, mushy and wet looking. His eyes had rolled back and what little of his skin that was not washed with crimson was ashen. He was as good as dead, already, but I had to make sure the job was completed. No loose ends. I angled the book purposefully downwards, bottom left hand corner first, and drove the corner into one of his rolling, blind eyes. The eyeball gave with a pressurised little pop and Gabe jerked, then stilled as the book lodged into his brain. I let go of the book and was delighted to find it remained embedded in his skull. I was almost tempted to take a picture, but the less hard evidence you had the harder it was to convict you, and a picture was pretty hard evidence. Besides, who would I show it to? I would remember the sight forever, I didn’t need a picture to help me with that.
“Don’t worry, man,” I smirked down at what was left of him, “I’ll take good care of Violet. She’ll barely have time to miss you before I make her forget why she should even care about you,” I blew him a mocking kiss and made my way out of the stacks, rubbing my gore-stained hands on the wall and smoothing my hair out of my face, grateful that his death hadn’t been particularly splashy even though I usually preferred that. Violets would be.
It didn’t take long for the police to swarm into the school and surround it, but I was safely away, parked across the street and eating takeout when they arrived. Violets car was parked in the main lot, but she hadn’t returned to it yet. I guessed she was inside, someone would have broken the news to her. I wondered if she’d cry. I wished I could see it, if she cried, could see what it was like for her to cry for someone else. It would be softer, less meaningful, than how she would cry for herself when I was done with her. It was hours later when the school doors finally opened at students began filing out, sombre, silent. Gabe must have been real popular here, but I’d already guessed that. Killing him hadn’t been all that strategic, but I needed him out of the way. And I needed Violet to know I was serious. I was going to wait for her to come out, so I could make sure she got home from school okay, but I was struck, suddenly, with a better idea… something with a more personal touch. I sped away, winding through the familiar streets on the route I’d memorised the moment I saw her and parked around the corner from her street. I scribbled a note onto the back of a napkin and jogged round to her house. There were no cars in the driveway, her parents weren’t home yet. She’d still be the first in, but I wanted to make absolutely sure the note didn’t fall into the wrong hands before she got to it, so I climbed the tree by the side of her house and slipped into her parents room again. The house looked different by day, more homely, and I smiled, glad Violet had a good childhood with loving parents, glad she would have something to look back on with fondness in her last moments. I snuck into her room and placed the note on her pillow.
‘Violet. Don’t be scared. He was an obstacle, but he’s gone. I’ll be in touch.’ It was just specific enough to coax Violet to the correct meaning and conclusion, but just ambiguous enough to discredit, wouldn’t hold up in court as evidence, should I be caught. I waited around the block in my car until her familiar beaten up vehicle passed me, and then drove back to my hotel for a well-earned evenings rest after a productive day.
( Coming Home 2/2 )